


Modern Love

by Missy



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Kissing, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Reminiscing, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 02:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16053101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: Things are different now.





	Modern Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThatBohoFemme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatBohoFemme/gifts).



Times have changed.

 

In the 00s and 90s there were two options for women – eye candy or object to gawk at. Even back then those roles could be switched around at the last minute for no reason other than producers and writers had decided that was the story they needed to tell at the time. 

 

They both had fantasies about being somewhere else – Lita with a full punk band, screaming and kicking, moshing into an angry and frothing crowd. Trish of having her own yoga studio, of balance and peace and suburbia. It wasn’t spray tans and implants and kicking gross men in the head when they tried to grab them by the tits. It was talking about it at night when no one else was around, Lita’s head in Trish’s lap, their eyes closed as the music swarmed over their nerves.

 

At night, they would go home to quiet hotel rooms, pillow their heads against each other’s shoulders, and let the day wash over them. _I want to be. I want to be. I am. I will always be the person you love._

 

No wonder it’s so easy to kiss between the moments contracted and cut away for them out of time. Those kisses, those touches, those seconds spent so far away from the rest of the expecting, sneering world, were the most concrete part of the dream they ache for. They taste of tea or chocolate, or tears. Of sweat, mostly, and hands that turn from tentative to sure as the night burns on. 

 

There were signs things might take awhile to settle in for them coming at them from all sides, but neither of them heeded the siren call of fear. It was easy to give in and up. So they stick together, hand in hand. 

 

Ten years later it’s easier. The girls surrounding them gawk in admiration at what they do. “I saw you when…I knew you when…I loved to see you…” 

 

“Holy shit,” says Trish, and she sounds so overwhelmed, her tone is so laced with bemusement, that all Lita can do is laugh in agreement. 

 

Holy shit. 

 

Falling in love isn’t any easier now than it was back then, though now they don’t have to hide it. They kiss in public, hold hands – they cling to each other and laugh at the sound of pleased gasps. It’s cozier, though – and they fear less what will happen when they turn their backs. True love and sex are different things, they understand. It’s holding hands when your wife gets her latest tattoo. It’s watching the cats when your wife’s out of town. It’s taking out the garbage and laughing at terrible jokes. It’s cuddling up on the couch and playing rock-paper-scissors to decide which movie you’re going to watch. It’s compromise and laughter. It’s understanding each other in ways that are meaningful and facile. It’s listening and shouting, complaining and loving.

It’s not easy but it can be perfect. Most of the time. 

 

****

**~~$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$~~**

 

 

 

They pack to head to the Rumble together, trying to decide what would make the best reintroduction for both of them. Their bodies ache fiercely still, shoulders and muscles that refuse to cooperate, and joints that won’t bend properly. They’re not even fifty yet, but they feel as rheumatic as a couple of old ladies. That’s when massages help out. And being a soft, warm place to fall for one another.

They were like Grande Dames in the locker room; the young ones clustered around to take the pearls of wisdom that spilled from their mouths. Was this how Mae and Moolah had felt, years ago, hiding their own affection between sideways glances and dropped heartbeats? The rookies that they’d seen at Diva Searches years ago were suddenly moms, suddenly running their own clothing lines and commanding armies of young girls on Twitter. Suddenly it was a brand new game.

They worked out spots with each of the young ones who approached them, but tried to keep the approach to the battle royal loose and friendly. Their hearts were in their throats. They held hands on the threshold of the curtain, waiting for their numbers to come up.

 

Afterwards – sweaty and tired – they take in the applause of their colleagues, arms wrapped around one another. It didn’t get quieter as they embraced in the middle of the room and let the world pass by around them.

 

They kissed in the quiet of the locker room, and thought again about the years where they wouldn’t be able to do this in semi-public.

 

Back then, their kisses were pornography for the audience – HLA, an excuse for hollering excitement from the men who watched the show. It wasn't about the two of them expressing love, looking one another straight in the eyes - watching each other with anything but banal interest. They were meant to punch each other, to be provocative, to tempt - but only men. 

 

There were depths in the shallows, of course – always – though no one dared dig them out. They turned their backs and plugged their ears, and never noticed that Trish and Lita left the shows early, closed the door of their hotel room behind them, and settled into the quiet peace of life lived comfortably. And the slow burn of gentle, exploring fingertips that knew their way all too clearly.

 

 

****

**~~$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$~~**

 

 

Lita remembers very clearly that Trish was the one who made the first move. They were in a bar, just a little tipsy with excitement and lust, and she’d pecked Lita on the cheek. Lita never blushed over anything, but she felt her own ears get red at the feeling of silky lipstick being left behind on her cheek. She dared to turn her head in the right direction. The kisses were like being struck by a bolt of lightning; electricity everywhere, running through her body, down her arms and into her veins. It was magic in one second.

 

It all seemed to have been leading to the Rumble, to the future, to the two of them making slow love in their hotel room, the timpani beats of their heart twinned together. To a slow dance in a club playing fast music. To wrestling in front of millions while being properly dressed. 

 

To true love, carved out with rock-solid determination.


End file.
